Following Orders
by Osidiano
Summary: Written for the pwkm: Franziska voyeurism fic involving a certain scruffy detective. She gets off on giving him orders and somehow he finds out after becoming suspicious of why she keeps telling him to take off his clothes in her office.
1. Chapter 1

**Following Orders**

She was always telling him to do things. Which was normal. Gumshoe was used to doing as he was told. He was very good at following orders; even the Chief himself had noticed and commended him on it.

"Scruffy, fetch me the book on international law from the top shelf."

"I have run out of tea. You must prepare another pot."

"You fool! This desk is not nearly clean enough. Polish it again until you can see that foolish face of yours in the reflection!"

He flinched at the sharp crack of the leather whip through the air, but held his ground. It would have been worse to run away, he reminded himself. Franziska Von Karma was not a woman that one could run away from: no matter how well hidden he thought himself to be, she always managed to find him. And the punishment was invariably more painful when he resisted, anyway.

"Y-yes, sir! R-right away, sir!" he stammered, throwing up a quick salute and going back to cleaning the prosecutor's office. Things were so different now that Mr. Edgeworth had returned to Europe. . . He sometimes wished that he could have gone with him to help investigate cases in Germany, too. At least then, he wouldn't be here, doing the things for Ms. Von Karma that he used to do for Mr. Edgeworth and wondering why it felt like such a deep betrayal. They were the same mundane acts, the same small kindnesses, but instead of being met with indifference or just ignored, she whipped him and called him names for his trouble.

Maybe he was doing them wrong? But even though he had learned how to make tea with some efficiency – "I suppose that you're not completely useless, after all. . ." she had murmured into the hot liquid whenever he was tasked with refilling her cup – he never felt like it was good enough for her.

What else did he expect, though? She was a Von Karma and Von Karmas demanded perfection. Dick Gumshoe was perfectly mediocre.

"Scruffy?"

Gumshoe froze, standing rigidly in front of the filing cabinet where he had been putting away last week's case notes. He had his back to Ms. Von Karma's immaculate and shiny desk, and he could feel her eyes on his back like two lasers boring deep into his skin. The detective swallowed hard. "Yes, sir?"

"My office is neither hot nor cold, but adjusted to be the perfect temperature for working diligently with one's full concentration on the task at hand. Remove your jacket immediately."

"Sir?" he half-turned to glance back at the younger woman over his shoulder, a confused expression on his face. Ms. Von Karma had returned her attention to the paperwork in front of her, but at the title, she looked back up with a glare. Their eyes met.

"Do _not_. Make me repeat myself, Scruffy."

"Y-yes, sir!" he set the rest of the folders down on top of the cabinet and quickly did as he was instructed. It was an odd order, he thought as he folded his worn detective's jacket over the back of one of the chairs in Ms. Von Karma's office. She must have been worried that he would overheat, or something, which was really considerate of her. But it was December, and there was snow on the ground outside. . . Gumshoe decided not to worry about it too much. He went back to putting away notes and report summaries.


	2. Chapter 2

**Following Orders**

"What is that on _your tie_?" Ms. Von Karma asked with a disdainful sneer, her upper lip curling back from her teeth. They were standing in the doorway to her office; she had her whip stretched between her hands and the detective was carrying a heavy box of old legal documents. Gumshoe frowned and looked down to inspect his tie. There were a few darker marks spotting it about halfway down. His frown deepened. He must have dripped soup on it during his lunch break.

His stomach knotted tightly in annoyance. Damn it. . . he couldn't afford to waste soup like that!

"Huh. . ." Gumshoe looked back to the prosecutor with an awkward shrug. "Looks like I spilled somethin' on it."

"That is deplorable. It is no wonder that you look like a scruffy fool instead of a proper policeman," she sniffed, and marched into her office. Ms. Von Karma waited until Gumshoe had followed into the room and set the box down on one corner of her desk before lashing out mercilessly with her whip. "Fool! I will not stand to have you in my presence wearing that dirty thing like a foolish child! Remove it at once!"

"Yeouch!" the detective rubbed at the angry red welt coming along his jawline where her whip had been only moments ago. He undid his red tie, shoving it into his coat pocket with a grumble. "Okay, okay, it's off!"

Ms. Von Karma nodded in approval, a satisfied smirk on her face. She took a seat at her desk. Gumshoe handed her one of the files from the box, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot as he waited for further orders. It would not have been good for his health – or his paycheck, he thought dismally – if he tried to excuse himself before she was ready to send him back to the precinct. He cleared his throat as quietly as he could, which was still far too loud in the nearly silent office, and Ms. Von Karma looked up expectantly.

The detective tried to offer her one of his typical, lopsided grins, but it felt rather strained. "Was there anything else, sir?"

". . .Yes," she said after an uncharacteristic hesitation. Gumshoe furrowed his brows and watched her with some confusion as she flipped through a few pages in the file before responding. Really, it was almost like. . . almost like she was stalling for time. But this was Franziska Von Karma, and she was perfect and collected and always absolutely certain of everything. Gumshoe decided that he must have been over thinking things; maybe he was just hungry. That soup hadn't done much to fill him up, and his mind tended to wander when his belly wasn't fed. Funny how things like that often turned out to be connected. "Yes, someone has. . . _misplaced_ my letter opener. It was not to be found when I conducted a search of my desk this morning, but I do not believe that it has been taken from my office. Find it."

So now he was Detective Dick Gumshoe, finder of lost items? He didn't particularly feel like he was quite the bloodhound she was looking for, but he knew better than to argue with her. Dejectedly, he asked for some clarification: "So. . .you want me to search your office for a letter opener, sir?"

"I haven't the time to waste on such an endeavor, and you do, unless you'd like for me to take the cost of a replacement out of your next paycheck?"

"N-no, sir! I'm on it, sir! That letter opener will be found before it even knows that it was lost, sir!" Gumshoe replied enthusiastically, the threat to his miniscule paycheck doing wonders for his motivation levels. Ms. Von Karma nodded again, and went back to examining the papers in front of her. Gumshoe hastily stepped away from the desk, deciding to start his investigation near the bookshelf. After a moment, he heard her call to him again.

"Oh, and, Scruffy?"

"Y-yes, sir?" he replied weakly, unsure how he could have messed up so quickly. He hoped she'd be easier with the whip this time. . . but Ms. Von Karma did not reach for her whip.

"What did I tell you about your jacket?"

"My ja–?"

"Remove it when you are in here."

"Y-ye. . .yes. Yes, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

**Following Orders**

When two very similar things happen, it's called a 'coincidence.' Gumshoe believed wholeheartedly in coincidences. It was a coincidence when two people who knew one another bumped into each other on a busy street, and a coincidence that all of Mr. Wright's closest friends had been accused of murder (some more than once). Sometimes things just _happened_ , and there wasn't any particular rhyme or reason to it. But when things started happening repeatedly, it seemed a little fishy, unless that person was just inherently unlucky (like poor Maggey Byrde). When those same two people continually run into each other wherever they go, it's called 'stalking.' And when everyone around you is accused of murder (some more than once), it's probably time to reevaluate the kinds of people you spend time with.

Which was why, when Ms. Von Karma asked to see his belt, the detective started to think that something was up.

"My. . . my belt, sir?" it was hard for him to wrap his head around. Why on earth would Ms. Von Karma need to see his belt? But there she was, sitting at her desk and leaning back in that high-backed chair of hers, toying with her whip and looking pointedly away from him. She had one elbow propped up on the freshly polished surface, her palm face-up as though waiting for him to deposit the article in question.

"It has to do with a case, Scruffy," she said simply.

"It does?"

" _Yes_. It _does_ ," she ground out the words from between clenched teeth, sighing with frustration and shaking her head slightly. "I need it for a size comparison with some of the evidence that was turned in."

Well, it sounded reasonable enough. . . Still a little bewildered, Gumshoe began fumbling with his belt. He felt ridiculously under dressed at the moment, though, as his jacket was in its (now usual) place on the back of one of Ms. Von Karma's office chairs and his tie was laying on top of it. Now he was missing his belt, too. At this rate, in a week, he'd have to start organizing her files naked. He blushed deeply at this thought, and wrapped the belt around its non-descript buckle before handing it to the prosecutor. She took it with a curt nod and gestured for him to return to his previous work.

The detective fidgeted on the other side of her desk for a moment, silently debating if it was worth the whipping to ask if there was a pattern to all this. But a lashing of that magnitude seemed a little daunting, so he held back. If something similar happened tomorrow, though, he was going to say something.

Besides, he needed until tomorrow _at least_ to figure out what the hell he was going to say.


	4. Chapter 4

**Following Orders**

She was staring again.

He started noticing that she was staring sometime yesterday, but had spent the last twenty-four hours convincing himself that he was imagining it. Wishful thinking. Food poisoning. _Something_.

The sudden attention made Gumshoe feel awkward and nervous, and – for the first time since high school – oddly attractive. This wasn't a feeling he was used to getting, and he rationalized that he must have been imagining the sensation of eyes crawling up and down his body. He could feel the blood rushing up to his face just thinking about it. Why would Ms. Von Karma be staring at him, anyway? Was there something on his shirt? He had already taken off his tie for having a stain, though, for the life of him, he had _no idea_ where it was. Maybe women really could see more details than men. Was there something on his _pants_? He hoped not; he wasn't sure he was ready to be bent over on his hands and knees searching for something underneath Ms. Von Karma's couch in just his underwear yet.

Er. . . that is, _ever_. He definitely meant 'ever.'

He glanced back over his shoulder to her desk, only to see his boss's head quickly turn away towards the bookcase, her chin resting in one gloved hand. Gumshoe frowned. He was imagining it. He must have been. Ms. Von Karma wouldn't be doing these kinds of things just to watch him get into compromising situations. . . right, pal?

Obviously, he just needed to eat more. He was getting all these weird fluttery feelings in his gut because he wasn't eating, and when he was, it was just more cheap ramen. Maybe he'd splurge and pick up something from the freezer section of the supermarket when he got off work. He was pretty sure that a lack of protein in a person's diet could lead to paranoia; hadn't he read that in a men's health magazine? It would certainly explain why he thought that his young, cool, collected boss was sexually harassing him. Ms. Von Karma was perfect. She didn't need to order around a scruffy slob like him to get her kicks, he reminded himself.

It would have been nice, though.

No! No, it would _not_ have been nice! What was he thinking? His fingers closed around the brooch that had been dropped earlier and skidded under the couch. Gumshoe quickly got to his feet and crossed the office to stand in front of the desk triumphantly. Maybe, since he had found it so fast, she wouldn't whip him as hard today. That would have been a pleasant reward, he thought.

"Here it is, sir!" he said, and placed the brooch at the top of the page that Ms. Von Karma had been reading. She picked it up, holding it delicately between two fingers.

"Thank you, Scruffy. . . you may go now."

"R-really, sir? Th-that's it?" he felt his spirits deflate, confusion settling in. Had he done something wrong? Ms. Von Karma never sent him away so fast; he'd practically just gotten there! But there was no punishment, so he couldn't have done something wrong. She didn't even look at the whip coiled on her desk. She just seemed. . . very distracted at the moment. His boss did not make eye-contact, simply nodded and gestured vaguely towards the door. "Oh. . . uh, okay, sir. Just. . . give me a call if you need anything else."

"Mmn-hmn. I assure you, I will."


End file.
